by Robert Warr
Dr Wilson looked at the innkeeper and said, ‘Can you go to the Hall and let His Lordship know that one of his staff is hurt? We shall require a cart to get him home and plenty of blankets. The quicker the better, if you don’t mind.’
It seemed to me that the innkeeper was reluctant to leave, but found that he had no real excuse for staying. When he was safely out of earshot, the doctor turned to your uncle and said, ‘In my opinion this man was attacked.’
‘I agree with you, doctor,’ said my master, ‘but do you have any idea who might have done this to him?’
‘Fred came to me recently and asked if I had treated anyone with shot wounds in the legs. Apparently, he had come on a gang netting the river and had let fly with his shotgun. He found some blood there the next morning but not enough to trail.’
‘Well, did you treat anyone, doctor?’ inquired my master.
‘I saw nobody with shot wounds. None of the villagers have been limping either, so I would say that it is not a local gang.’
The doctor and my master did what they could for Fred while waiting for more help to arrive. The doctor expressed his confidence that Fred would live, although he would have to keep to his bed for several days. When the cart arrived, the doctor supervised the loading of the patient and ensured that he was adequately wrapped in blankets.
Your uncle and I watched the cart depart in silence. He then reached down and pulled my ears.
‘Good lad,’ he said.
My master then examined the area where the body had rested and the surrounding bank very carefully. He then took a few pieces of stick, threw them into the river and watched them float by on the current. Taking a notebook from his pocket, he made a quick sketch of the area. Then, in companionable silence, we gathered the fishing gear and made our way back to the inn.
We returned to the inn and your uncle washed and changed. When he was ready, we went downstairs and he asked the landlady where he could find the local police constable. To our surprise we were told that he was in the yard talking to the landlord. After thanking the landlady for her help, we went in search of the constable. In the yard, we found the landlord talking to another man, who was dressed in his Sunday best. It was probably my imagination but I thought that the landlord started guiltily when he saw us approaching.
The landlord made the introductions. The constable’s name was Thomas Lee and he was, coincidentally, the landlord’s brother-in-law.
‘Evening, Inspector,’ said Constable Lee. ‘How can I help you?’
‘I want to report how I found Fred Wallace,’ your uncle replied. ‘I think that it is important to record the details while they are still fresh.’
‘Why would I want to do that, sir?’ the constable sneered.
‘Fred Wallace was, in my professional opinion, attacked and then thrown unconscious into the river. Surely an attempted murder needs to be properly investigated?’
‘Well, sir,’ replied the constable, ‘I don’t know about any attack. The good landlord here was telling me that Fred had a right skinful last night. It wouldn’t be the first time that a drunk has fallen into the river. He was lucky you found him. There was no attack, in my professional opinion, and I’m not stirring up trouble in my village over a non-event.’
‘So,’ grated your uncle, ‘you are refusing to do your duty?’
‘Not at all, sir,’ replied the constable. ‘I will talk to Fred when he recovers. If he says he was attacked I will start questioning my neighbours. Until I have a complaint from him, I am not causing unnecessary trouble.’
With that the village policeman bade his brother-in-law a good evening and strode from the yard in what he obviously believed was a commanding manner. Your uncle took out his notebook and made a few more notes.
The innkeeper watched the constable leave and then turned to your uncle.
‘Begging your pardon, sir,’ he began, ‘I would be obliged if you could tell me what happened today. If you don’t tell me the truth of it now, I’ll hear a score of accounts before my last customer leaves tonight.’
My master readily agreed to tell him, provided he could do so while sitting down with a drink in his hand. Once inside your uncle told the innkeeper the whole story as far as he knew it. I must admit I enjoyed hearing his version. He made sure that the innkeeper knew that I had found Fred Wallace.
While my master was enjoying his supper, which was a particularly fine piece of roast rib-beef, a boy arrived at the inn carrying an envelope which was duly delivered to my master who opened it and read the contents.
‘Well boy,’ he said to me, ‘Lord Arnston has invited me to take luncheon with him. He has particularly requested that I bring you.’
We spent the rest of the evening in the inn. I noticed that my master was drinking moderately and listening intently to everything that was said. He was obviously interested in this case. All in all, it was a good evening. Fred Wallace was apparently quite popular with some of the residents of the village. By the time we went to go to bed the story of the rescue had grown. I had apparently pulled Fred single-pawed from the river and a certain watery grave. To be totally honest, I enjoy being lionised. I love basking in the warm glow of people’s admiration. Modesty is not a Spaniel trait.
As my master started to walk up the stairs to bed, the landlady called me to her. She crouched down and started patting my head. Then she looked me straight in the eyes and I am sure that she was about to cry.
‘I like Fred,’ she whispered, ‘and I’m glad you saved him, whatever some others may think. I’ll not let anyone harm you either.’
With that surprising declaration, she kissed my forehead and went back to the kitchen. I followed my master up the stairs to bed. I believe I slept well because I do not remember anything more of that night.
Just before dawn, we ventured out and went down to the river for some more fishing. I spent my time lying by my master watching the dawn and marvelling at the sheer but transient beauty of the dew. Your uncle did not catch anything big enough to eat but it did not seem to dampen his spirits. For a while, I forgot all about the violent attack and the threats to my life.
Breakfast was a good meal. My master took his time while reading his way through a copy of The Times. I remember that meal well because the landlady slipped me a large piece of the best bacon that I had ever tasted. This country fare does make some of our city meals look bad.
At about ten thirty a smart trap arrived at the inn to convey us to Arnston Hall. We crossed the river and then drove along the boundary wall of the deer park until we reached an interesting gate with a pair of cottages. Turning up the drive we went through an area of semi-landscaped parkland. The house when we reached it was one of those imposing Palladian buildings.
We pulled up at the bottom of a shallow flight of stairs. Standing on the lowest one was a footman, dressed in clothes that echoed the fashions of previous years. This man, with the arrogance that only the servants of the real aristocracy can obtain, looked my master up and down with a faintly condescending sneer.
‘Inspector Thompson?’ the footman enquired. ‘His Lordship has asked me to show you to the library.’
Somehow this greeting, although polite and correct, implied that we should have gone to the servants’ entrance. Your uncle, however, thanked the footman and asked him to lead the way. I have never understood why some people look down on the police; I’ve never noticed much reluctance on their part to demand help when they are in trouble.
When we reached the library we found a distinguished man in his late sixties arranging papers on central table. The footman’s announcement of our arrival left us in no doubt that this was Lord Arnston. Lying under the table was an old and somewhat plump black Labrador. He struggled to his feet and came over to me.
‘Hello, young fellow,’ he said, ‘I’m William. We heard all about you yesterday. You are welcome to share my fireplace whenever you want. If you want anything on this estate, you just mention my name.’
; With that, he returned to his place under the table, and his interrupted nap. I turned my attention back to my master and Lord Arnston.
‘I cannot thank you enough for your actions, Inspector.’ Lord Arnston was saying. ‘Fred served under me in India and has been with me ever since.’
Your uncle modestly brushed away the praise and pointed out that I had done most of the rescuing. At Lord Arnston’s insistence, he retold the whole story. The noble lord said nothing but coughed disapprovingly when your uncle described his conversation with Constable Lee.
‘Inspector,’ Lord Arnston began, ‘yesterday, when Fred was brought home, he regained consciousness and asked to talk to me. When I listened to what he had to say I decided to call in the police. To this end I asked Inspector Pendle, who is in the county constabulary at Martelton, to come over this morning. Then I realised who you were and decided to ask for your assistance.
‘Fred is awake this morning, so when Inspector Pendle arrives I suggest that you come and listen to his story first hand.’
Your uncle readily agreed to this idea. The two men then fell to discussing the merits of the village church’s architecture. Although it was undoubtedly a learned conversation, it was not of any great interest to me. I passed the time discussing the local ditches, lakes and rivers with William. You can always trust a Labrador to know the best swimming places.
The disdainful footman eventually introduced Inspector Pendle. I looked up to see a tall and dapper man, probably in his early forties. He crossed over to the two other men with a loose and easy stride. However, he paused just long enough to snap his fingers at William and me.
‘Good morning Lord Arnston, Inspector Thompson,’ he began. ‘I gather from your message that the poachers have finally resorted to murderous violence.’
‘Good of you to come, Inspector,’ Lord Arnston said. ‘Are you acquainted with the events of yesterday?’
‘No, my Lord,’ Inspector Pendle replied. ‘I decided to listen to the facts before I heard Constable Lee’s theories.’
Your uncle once more ran through the story, but this time he showed his fellow policeman the sketches in his notebook. All Inspector Pendle’s comments and questions were sensible and to the point. I decided that I liked this provincial inspector.
‘If you are ready, gentlemen,’ said Lord Arnston, ‘I’ll take you to see Fred Wallace.’
Lord Arnston led us from the library and out into the gardens, explaining that Fred lived in a tied cottage near to the main house. He went on to explain that the cottage was in effect Fred’s for life. The gardens were very well laid out with the back facade of the house being reflected in a lake. There were ducks on the lake and I was reminded of the house at Maygrove.
Fred Wallace’s cottage was surrounded by a neat dry-stone wall that enclosed an attractive cottage garden at the front and a well-kept vegetable patch at the rear. As we entered the garden, through a smart, wooden gate, a homely woman, obviously Fred’s wife, opened the front door and greeted us all very nicely. In case I haven’t mentioned it, I enjoy being treated as a hero.
We were shown into the cottage’s bedroom where we found Fred Wallace sitting up in bed stroking an elderly tabby. Although he was still rather pale he was wide awake, and, I think, glad of our visit. We greeted him warmly and inquired after his health.
‘Fred,’ began Lord Arnston, ‘you know Inspector Pendle. The other gentleman is Inspector Thompson of Scotland Yard. I would be grateful if you would tell them what you told me yesterday.’
‘It was Saturday night,’ said Fred Wallace. ‘I finished work at about nine o’clock and decided to call in at the Red Lion. I had heard that a gentleman had come down for some fishing and I wanted to have a sight of him.
‘While I was having a beer, Thomas Lee came over to me and started asking me if I had any more thoughts about the gang I had surprised. I refused to answer his questions. He got rather insistent, so I told him that when I was sure, I would go to Lord Arnston first. He would undoubtedly call in someone from Martelton and not the village bobby.
‘I think that this offended him because he went off to mutter with his brother-in-law. I don’t trust the man. When I first realised that I was having problems with a poaching gang, I discussed the matter with Constable Lee. He was very helpful, and willingly helped me lay my plans. I soon realised that whenever I had discussed something with him, the poachers seemed to know about it in advance. I think that he has a loose tongue.
‘The poachers also altered their tactics quite regularly, which prevented me from setting up a reliable ambush. In the last few months, they have stretched a net across the river and poured poison in upstream. That section of the river is now dead. They have also speared fish from boats while using flaming torches to attract them. A short while ago I came across them dynamiting the river. It was on that occasion that I shot at one of the net handlers on my bank.
‘On that occasion, as the poachers fled, I heard one of them mention my name and it suddenly occurred to me that someone in the village was working for this gang. I therefore asked the doctor if anyone had come to him with shot injuries.
‘I was in the Red Lion for about an hour on Saturday night, and I left to walk home just after the moon had risen. It was a good evening and I spent some time standing on the bridge listening to my river flowing past. I had gone perhaps fifty yards from the bridge when a figure stood up by the estate wall.
‘“Fred Wallace?” he asked. “I want a word with you.”
‘“Yes, I’m Fred Wallace,” I replied. “What do you want to say to me?”
‘“I know something that you might find interesting,” he said, coming towards me. “How would you like to know the name of the man you shot a few weeks ago?”
‘“Very much,” I replied. I thought I knew what was happening here. Often a disgruntled member of a poaching gang will betray their fellows. I thought that this one was prepared to tell me everything for a consideration of some kind.
‘“Look here, Mr Wallace,” he continued, “I’ll give you a list of all those involved in poaching on your stretch for two guineas and your word that no action will be taken against me.”
‘“I don’t have that much on me,” I said. “If you give me your list, I’ll give you my word to pay you the money.”
‘“I know I can trust you, Mr Wallace,” he replied. “If you meet me here on Tuesday night, I’ll even lead you to where the gang is due to poach.”
‘I was so completely involved with this offer that I did not hear anyone behind me until the last second. I heard a footstep and started to turn. Then there was a heavy blow on the back of my head, I saw a bright light and it suddenly went dark.
‘I revived to find myself being dragged face down and by my heels to the edge of the bank by the bridge. It was obvious that the devils intended to throw me into the river and make an end of me. I forced myself to be calm and managed to take one very deep breath before they threw me in.
‘I floated down the river drifting in and out of consciousness. I believe that the chill of the water helped to revive me sufficiently for me to keep breathing. I became aware that my legs had touched gravel and a branch from a riverside willow tree reached the water by my head. Somehow, I managed to throw my arm over the branch. I can remember nothing more that night.
‘The next thing I remember is opening my eyes and seeing a dog licking my face. At least that is what I think I saw. I do know that I heard it start howling. Now I like dogs and it sounded so unhappy that I tried to reach out and pat it. The next moment I was face down in the water. I don’t think I had any fight left in me and I just lay there.
There was a heavy blow on the back of my head.
‘As I abandoned myself to death something grabbed me hard by the shoulder and turned me on my back. I have a crazy memory of a Spaniel holding onto my collar while trying to bark. I know that someone held my head out of the water.’
Having finished his story Fred sank tiredly back into
the bed. Lord Arnston thanked him and we left the cottage.
‘I am afraid that there can be no doubt now,’ Inspector Pendle observed. ‘That was a deliberate and cold blooded attempt to murder Fred Wallace. The only question that I can not readily answer is, why attack him now?’
‘Two possibilities spring to mind,’ your uncle replied. ‘Either it was revenge for Fred’s shooting of a gang member or someone in the inn overheard his conversation with Constable Lee and thought that he had worked out who the poachers were.’
‘Every time I look into this problem it always seems to lead straight back to the Red Lion.’ Inspector Pendle hesitated and continued, ‘I have my suspicions about the innkeeper and I believe that he is very heavily involved with this gang. I know that you are on holiday, but can I ask you to assist me with this case? You are, after all, staying at the inn and you might overhear something.’
‘With pleasure,’ your uncle agreed with alacrity. ‘I was just about to offer my services anyway. I would rather catch the miscreants before they successfully commit murder and you have to call me in officially. I need to know everything you can tell me about this gang.’
‘If you don’t mind my presence during this conversation,’ interjected Lord Arnston, ‘I would suggest we discuss this over lunch.’
This idea met with our unanimous approval and we returned to the hall for lunch. The food was simple and plentiful, but very good. It was quite easy to see why William had put on weight. During the meal, the humans discussed the poaching gang. For the sake of simplicity, I will summarise the conversation. I must remind you that most of this was supposition based on hearsay, circumstantial evidence and Inspector Pendle’s instincts.
Poaching has long been an unofficial country pastime. In fact, quite a few countrymen are full-time poachers, existing entirely on what they hunt and catch in other people’s fields. I must admit to a certain ambivalence in my attitude towards poaching. I cannot see anything wrong in a man taking a wild creature to feed himself. Quite apart from that, hunting is fun. There is, however, a difference between a man hunting for himself and a gang hunting commercially. There is also a difference between wild animals and specially-bred birds.